


Plausible Deniability

by paddingtonfan69



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, F/F, Fluff, Romantic Comedy, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paddingtonfan69/pseuds/paddingtonfan69
Summary: Myka Bering is on a mission to save her independent bookstore from the corporate Wells Emporium opening up across the street, owned by the charming and infuriating Helena Wells. Completely unrelated, she has struck up an email correspondence with an enthralling woman under the pseudonym HG Wells, who she finds herself rapidly falling for.aka Bering and Wells You've Got Mail AU
Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells
Comments: 71
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Inquiry_ **

_Hello!_

_This may be a weird way to make an introduction, but I noticed this email connected with the posting about a preserved copy of several George Eliot texts and my interest was piqued. I was wondering if you could offer me some insight as to how you came across her original works? I’ve been looking for a_ Silas Marner _for years and to just stumble upon it like this felt like fate or something like that._

_You don’t know me, but if you did, you would think it's pretty out of character for me to use words like fate, but I am just so fascinated with the way these words of the past find their way into the hands of people in the present. If you did know me, you would also be rolling your eyes at how much I like talking about the past and history and old books but I assume you get it too. You know, given the Eliot texts._

_Anyway, any backstory would be super appreciated, for the sake of intellectual curiosity if nothing else!_

_Best,_

_A Curious Book Enthusiast_

_P.S. Who did you blackmail at Google to get the email address “HG Wells” with no numbers or anything? Well done._

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Inquiry_ **

_Hello there Curious Book Enthusiast,_

_Or shall I say “Scholar’s Eye?” A rather apt choice given your question, though it would have been more fitting if you had been inquiring about a first edition_ Hamlet _. Ah, but that might of been too close to that notion of fate you so uncharacteristically speak of._

_With regards to the Eliot texts, I would be more than happy to share how I procured them. If you knew me, my dear Scholar’s Eye, then you would know that I love to tell a long-winded story where I end up sounding very charming and delightful. Which I am, for the record._

_The short answer is that when I was in University, I spent far too much time with a group of boys who were quite into - how shall I put this delicately? - light crime. Shoplifting, marijuana, and the like. For the sake of honestly, I was rather their ringleader. I believe it was mostly due to my wits, but also in part because I was a pretty girl and they were fools. Either way, we participated in several escalating dares until a fellow named Wolcott said that even_ I _wouldn’t steal anything from the locked up glass cases in the library._

_I’m sure you know how the rest goes._

_I’ve always been a fan of Eliot, and I so admire how she gave a pleasant “fuck off” to societal standards, and at the time I justified picking a lock and seducing a guard to steal a couple first editions as my own way of upending societal standards. On reflection, I was more of an insolent teenager, but you know what they say about hindsight._

_Oh dear, I did say this would be the short answer and I’ve written my own first edition novel here. I did warn you that I would be long-winded, but do forgive me. I hope to have provided some answers to your insatiable curiosity. Which I admire. May I add that anyone who rolls their eyes for your or anyone’s fascination with history is most definitely a fool. Pay them no mind._

_Cheers,_

_HG_

_P.S. I may have tormented the man who held the email address so incessantly that he gave it over to me. But I may not have. Plausible deniability._

* * *

“Oooh Mykes, why ya smiling at your phone like that?” Pete teases, leaning his elbows on the counter, desperately trying to steal a glance at her phone. 

“It’s nothing,” Myka quickly says, putting her phone down. She is definitely not telling Pete that in addition to owning her own bookshop, she spends her limited spare time on a forum - _a forum, what is this the 90s?_ she can already hear Claudia saying - looking at even more rare books. Then emailing someone about said books. Then, embarrassingly, getting a substantial thrill at receiving an email back. 

“Texting someone cuuute?” He grins at her.

Myka finds herself shaking her head all too fast, trying to ignore the thought of some mysterious woman _seducing a guard_ to get a _first edition George Eliot -_ two concepts that Myka’s brain decisively reads as hot. Christ. She needs to get out more.

“I’m emailing someone about an old book,” she says honestly, which thankfully deflects Pete from the “someone cute” line of questioning. 

“Sheesh, you are so predictable.”

“That’s not as insulting as you think it is.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be entertaining the youth of America?”

They both look over at the gaggle of children assembled for Pete’s weekly story hour. It’s the awkward drop off phase now, where some parents are sticking around, some are leaving, and most are hovering though their children clearly want them to leave. 

“Actually, one of the kids is British this week, so I’m entertaining the youth of the world!” Pete says with a flourish, before grabbing _The Book with No Pictures_ and racing over to the kids. 

Myka smiles at him and his boyish eagerness, which never falters even though he does this every week. It’s why the kids (and a good portion of the moms) always look at him with such awe. And why, as she’s been arguing with no one in her head recently, it makes their little shop special and unique compared to any corporate bookshops that may or may not be opening up across the street. 

Pete makes some faces, the kids giggle, and Myka relaxes a bit. Wells Emporium may have corporate international money and a fully recognized brand but they don’t have Pete. Or Claudia. Or _her_ , damn it. 

“Pardon?” A customer says, tearing her out of her vindictive thoughts.

Right. If she’s going to be the best independent bookstore in Colorado Springs, she should probably actually sell some books. She puts on her costumer service smile and looks to see a woman with incredibly glossy hair and a confident smile directed at her from the other side of the counter. 

“Hi!” Myka says, far too eagerly, “Welcome to Bering and Sons.”

“Are you the Bering or the Sons?” the woman asks smoothly. She has good cheekbones, Myka notes, before catching herself. Hair and cheekbones in the span of five seconds? Slow down there, Bering.

“Both,” she responds with a half-smile, “my dad wasn’t expecting daughters, so.”

“Couldn’t he have changed the sign?”

“You don’t know my dad.”

“Not sure if that’s a great loss.” The woman’s smile grows, with two dimples emerging, and Myka finds herself smiling back.

“Do you, uh,” she says, suddenly stumbling over words for no earthly reason, “need help finding a book?”

“Yes, actually. What, in your expert opinion, would one give a petulant eight-year-old who cannot seem to leave a bookstore without haranguing her exhausted mother into buying her something?”

“Smart kid.”

The woman simply beams at this. “The smartest.”

Her clear pride makes Myka intrinsically like this woman; more parents should be proud of smart girls.

“Come on, let’s go explore.”

Myka ducks under the counter so she’s standing beside the customer, who's giving her a look that can only be described as appreciative.

“Such service.” 

Myka gives her a grin. “Trust me, you won’t find this kind of customer support at the Wells Emporium opening up across the street.”

The woman blinks at her, purses her lips. 

“Sorry if that was too harsh,” Myka quickly amends, “I’m just happy people like you are supporting local independent businesses. It’s all big box stores these days.”

“Quite,” the woman says, not quite making eye contact. “So, ah, your recommendation.”

Myka leads the way, noticing how the woman’s eyes take in the shop. She gets a spark of pride at that. After her dad finally retired, she, with the help of Pete and Claudia, made this place into something that was distinctively hers, with classics seamlessly fitting in with newer releases, community programs, a place where people actually want to spend their days.

“It’s a beautiful shop, Ms. Bering,” the woman says, as if reading Myka’s thoughts. 

It’s Myka’s turn to beam with pride. This very sophisticated woman with her accent and her smile and her hair is complimenting _her_ shop. 

“Myka,” she says quickly, “no need for the formality.”

“Myka,” the woman repeats, and Myka finds herself admiring the way the woman’s mouth curves around her name. She holds out a hand to Myka. “Helena - just Helena.”

Myka takes her hand. “Okay, just Helena, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They stay there for a bit too long to be socially acceptable, and Myka can feel how warm Helena’s hand is, matching that bright smile. It’s captivating.

Myka finally clears her throat and drops her hand. “Anyway,” she says, “she’s read _Matilda,_ I presume?"

Helena lets out a chuckle. “We're British, she loves to read, I think I would be arrested if she hadn't read that one. She still sometimes tries to move things with her mind. It’s quite exhausting.”

Myka smiles at that. Good kid. They spend the rest of the story hour going over which books Helena’s child has read, a startling amount for someone who is eight, and Myka finds herself thoroughly impressed with Helena’s parenting skills when it comes to literature. Finally they settle on _The Golden Compass_ , which Myka would normally not recommend to a child of that age, but this one seems to have read everything that Myka can think of, so why not throw her a challenge?

“Do you read to her at all still or does she go solo?” Myka asks, before quickly amending, “or maybe her father - or other mother - or anyone, um, else?”

“Just me,” Helena says quickly.

“Good. Well, not good, but um, you’re clearly doing a great job.”

“So are you.”

Myka tilts her head. “At what?”

“At asking if I’m single,” Helena says with a sly grin. 

Myka goes red. Great. Luckily, she’s spared from having to say something clever or maybe flirty by a blur of a child running up to them and attaching herself to Helena’s waist. 

“Mum!” she exclaims. “Can we come back next week? Pete said he could sometimes use an older kid to help him read and that I had a funny special voice and I said _he_ had a funny special voice and he liked that and can I help him read to the littler kids next week, please?”

“Christina,” Helena scolds fondly, “take a breath.” Christina does. “And yes, of course, darling, that sounds lovely.”

She shoots a purely joyful smile to Myka, who feels it reflected in her own face. Because she can’t help it today, she remarks, “can’t find anyone like Pete at Wells Emporium.” 

Helena’s eyes widen at this. 

“Wells!” Christina shrieks, “that’s-”

She’s cut off by Helena’s hand over her mouth. Myka eyes her quizzically, but chalks it up to some mother-daughter thing she’s not privy to.

“Alright, love, that’s enough today,” Helena says to her daughter, “say thank you to Ms. Bering here, and your Pete, and we’ll get out of these lovely people’s hair.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bering!”

“Myka,” Myka gently corrects, but Christina is running off already to talk to Pete. “She’s lovely,” she tells Helena.

“That’s one word for it,” Helena says with a laugh, leading Myka back to the counter, “thank you for being so accommodating.”

“Hey, that’s what we do here at Bering and Sons.”

“Daughter.”

Helena winks at her, fully catching Myka off guard. Who _winks_ anymore? And why does Myka find it so attractive?

When the duo leaves, with Pete promising Christina she can be his helper next week, Myka watches them until the bell dings behind them. 

“She’s hot,” Pete casually remarks. 

“Pete,” Myka says, far more harshly than the situation calls for, “you are not sleeping with another mom!”

“Chill out, Mykes, I meant for you. Duh. And by the way, you’re blushing.”

Myka, who is, in fact, furiously blushing, doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she punches him lightly in the arm and goes back behind the counter. 

She doesn’t notice that the mother and daughter walk directly into the new building for Wells Emporium. 

* * *

  
  


**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: That Story_ **

_Okay HG Wells -_

_That was_ not _the story I was expecting. I was thinking maybe an antique shop or an auction or a family heirloom, but this exceeded all expectations. I hope your band of criminals appreciated the work that their Artful Dodger did for them, and never thought to underestimate a pretty girl again. Your words._

 _As for the name “Scholar’s Eye,” it comes from some family baggage. (What doesn’t, right?) My misguided father decided to give me the middle name Ophelia, which is a deeply depressing thing to imprint upon a child. When I finally got around to reading_ Hamlet _, I was pissed at him for it, as I think any 12-year-old would be. On a later read though, I found that Ophelia’s act three monologue did a pretty great job at describing disappointment in someone you once admired. (Again, family baggage.) In particular, the phrase Scholar’s Eye jumped out at me, and it just sort of stuck. I'd also humbly like to believe that I possess a Scholars Eye._

_Though I don’t see the point of being humble to someone who described themselves as charming, delightful, and pretty in one email. Thanks for brightening up my day. And if I ever hear of more stolen first editions, I’ll know who to blame._

_Best,_

_SE_

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Ophelia_ **

_My dear Scholar,_

_I shan’t call you Ophelia here, given that I fully agree about what a lamentable name it is to bestow upon a child. But it is truly remarkable that you found such a gem in the midst of that. That said, if I were to choose a phrase from that act three monologue, I would have to go with “Blasted with Ecstasy," sans context._

_I fully empathize with you on the family baggage front. I have found, recently, and oh for the past 30-some-odd years of my life, that ruminating on the idiotic things my father did still fills me with a barely containable rage._ _Who am I kidding? I can never quite contain it. The amount of screaming matches I've had with him when I found myself pregnant or moving overseas, dear God._

_I suppose what I’m trying to say, through revealing more about my personal life than I usually would, is that I understand and empathize with a difficult father. I’m happy to be raising a child without one, quite frankly. Who needs men?_

_I do apologize if you are, in fact, a member of said lesser gender, but I highly doubt that your father would bequeath the name “Ophelia” on a young boy. Though, perhaps if he did, I would like him a good deal more for stirring the pot. Furthermore, I don’t think I would be enjoying your correspondence as much if you were a man._

_Call me biased. Actually, call me charming, delightful, and pretty, as you already have._

_Cheers,_

_HG_

* * *

  
  


“Speak of the devil,” Helena mutters to herself as her phone lights up with the severely unflattering phone of her father she had Christina set as his contact picture. 

“Christina, your grandfather’s calling!” she calls into the living room of their new apartment.

“I don’t want to talk to him, I’m reading!” Christina responds, buried in _The Golden Compass_ as she has been for the last three days.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to him either,” Helena grumbles, but reluctantly answers her phone, giving into the unfortunate truth that she has to be the adult in this household. 

“Father,” she says into the phone, curtly. 

“Helena,” he responds, equally so, “how goes the grand opening?”

“Perfectly,” she tells him, despite her ongoing plans to postpone it again, mostly to make that one vein in his forehead pop. 

“Good. This location is supposed to be quite profitable.”

“Oh, Wells Emporiums are always profitable,” she parrots at him. It’s a truth, a truth that puts a roof over her and Christina’s heads, but she can’t stop thinking about the look in the shopkeeper’s eye when she said "Wells Emporium" with such disdain.

“It would take someone colossally incompetent to mess one up, yes.” 

Helena winces, though she’s heard the words in plainer terms. This is a test, as everything always is with her father. 

“To get the the point, Helena,” he continues, all business, “you’re needed tomorrow evening to attend a party.”

“A party?”

“Some Neilson fellow, very big in the literary scene over there is throwing a soiree of some sort. Go, make pleasantries, give us Wellses a good name. This is not optional.”

Some days, Helena argues with him till her voice is hoarse and one or both of them of them threatens to never speak to the other again. But not today. She's still exhausted from moving, Christina is seemingly happy, and she frankly does not have the energy. She grits her teeth. 

“I’ll be there.”

Even though her father himself will not be at this gathering, Helena decides to wear what would piss him off the most, a black shoulderless dress that she knows is far from respectable. Picturing her father’s face makes her smile at herself in the mirror. Also, just the fact that, well, she looks quite good. 

_Charming, delightful, and pretty_ , she thinks to herself and sees her smile grow wider. Not that her mysterious email correspondent said that herself, or that she even knows Helena, it just feels nice to talk to someone with no pretenses about her, her family, the store, nothing. Just Helena. 

“Mum! Door!” Christina shouts. God, she is going to have to teach that child to keep her voice down one of those days. 

She thinks of the amused expression on Myka Bering’s face when confronted with Christina’s energy the other day and smiles at the thought. Then, less so, at the way her face looked when she spat out Helena’s family name. 

She answers the door for the sitter, a lovely man called Steve, whose perpetual calmness in the face of the whirlwind that is Christina is quite remarkable. He grins at her. Even though it’s only his third time watching Christina, Helena's pleased to note how happy he is to see her. As he should be. 

“You look great,” he tells her, “date tonight?”

Helena scoffs. “Please.”

He shrugs. “Just saying, anyone would be lucky.”

It’s so genuine that Helena’s taken aback a little. “Please. I’ve seen a picture of your boyfriend, I believe you are the lucky one.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Their conversation is cut short by Christina running up and tackling Steve so both of them end up laughing on the floor. Helena gazes at them. She will go to this terrible party and she will socialize with very boring people about her morally bankrupt business and she will not set her father’s empire of chain bookstores on fire, because it’s all for the little demon child squirming on the floor right now. 

The party lives up to Helena’s very low expectations. She drinks a glass of wine, eats a canape, smiles at strangers, who nod knowingly, and sometimes judgmentally, when she says “Wells” as her surname. Helena normally would say that socializing is one of the many things she excels at, but tonight, she simply doesn’t see the point.

Which is how she finds herself near the refreshments, where the only other person there is actively stuffing pigs in blankets into his mouth. Charming. He turns around and gives a frankly disgusting smile, given his full mouth. He looks familiar.

“Krishhomom,” he mumbles at her. 

“Come again?”

He swallows. “Christina’s mom,” he says brightly, “from the bookstore. I’m Pete, I do the stories.”

She lets out a breath, relieved he is no longer chewing and thrilled that she has an excuse to talk about Christina and not her family’s godforsaken store. 

“Yes. I believe she was quite taken with you and your stories.”

He smiles hugely, puffing out his chest. “Heck yeah. She’s a great kid, said she’d help me out next week. Way smart, that girl, she’ll be better at reading than me in like, two years.”

Helena doesn’t think she’ll ever get over people complimenting her daughter like that. It makes her forget all the bullshit she has to deal with on the daily. 

“I’ll give it three,” she tells Pete, who laughs. Then he calls somewhere to his left, “hey, Mykes, come here! Look who I found.” 

He says the last part with a joking lilt that Helena can’t fully process by the time the absolutely gorgeous woman from the bookshop approaches them. Her face noticeably lights up when she sees Helena, and then, to Helena’s absolute delight, takes in every inch of exposed skin Helena’s outfit allows.

“Hi,” she breathes. 

“You’ll find my eyes are up here,” Helena teases, which causes Myka to genuinely blush. 

“Right,” she says, meeting Helena’s eyes, “how are you? Why are you here?”

Oh, bother. Right when she was enjoying herself. “Ah, a family friend,” she half-lies. “What brings you here?”

“Recon,” Pete says. Helena had forgotten he was here.

“Recon?”

Myka rolls her eyes. “Pete’s being dramatic. Basically,” she lowers her voice conspiratorially and Helena finds herself thrilled to be in on the secret, “Artie told us that the owner of the new Wells Emporium would be here, and I’d really like to know what his deal is and if he plans to completely destroy my business.”

“She,” Helena says instinctively, before she can think better of it. Her heart sinks. Bullocks. 

“What?” Myka asks, brow furrowing in a distractingly adorable way. 

Before Helena can decide whether to come clean, run or lie, she’s interrupted by fate making that choice for her. 

“Ms. Wells,” says the voice of the Neilson fellow, as he approaches them. 

“Ms. Wells,” Myka repeats, slowly. 

“I see you’ve met Myka Bering. I’ve tried to recruit her to the publishing side for years, but she loves that shop too much. Myka, this is Helena Wells of-”

“Wells Emporium,” Myka finishes sharply. 

“Oh shit,” Pete whispers. 

“Myka, I-” Helena starts, but she’s cut off. 

Myka’s expression has hardened, that sweet wide smile nowhere to be found. 

“So you think you can just come into my store to spy on us, before you run it into the ground.”

“That’s not-”

“Look, I don’t want to hear it. You run your soulless corporate bookstore, I’ll run mine. Just stay out of my way. Don’t bring some child you claim to be your daughter-”

“You leave my daughter out of this,” Helena snaps, “you don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Please. I know all I need to know.”

"Why don't you take your moral superiority and-"

“Hey, hey, ladies!” Pete calls from between them. 

“What!” They both yell at him. 

He holds up both hands, “maybe uh, take it outside or something. People are staring.”

Helena turns to see that people are indeed watching them. She huffs. Let them. 

“I think we’re done here,” she says coldly to Myka as she leaves the room. She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t have thought she could get away with not being a Wells for a second of her life. She shouldn’t have thought someone like Myka Bering would ever be able to see her through all that. 

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Assholes_ **

_Alright, HG Wells, how do I put this lightly: your father sounds like an asshole. Mine was too, as you surmised. Sometimes I feel like I am just drowning in people like that. Even when you think someone might be different, get a sense for them or something, then they just turn around and surprise! An asshole! God, it makes it so hard to trust people sometimes._

_My coworkers, who are my only friends in all honesty, keep saying I need to get out more. And I’m sure I do, but how am I supposed to “get out more” when the people that I would want to “get out” with turn out to be against everything I stand for?_

_I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense, it just feels good to talk to someone so fully removed from my life so I don’t have to hold back. If you don’t want to respond to my ramblings, because you're too busy stealing Eliot texts or being the father of science fiction, no hard feelings._

_Oh, and in regard to your questions, yes I am a woman. Much to the chagrin of my father. (See, assholes again!) But much to the pleasure of a delightful, charming, and pretty woman I’m corresponding with, so maybe it balances out somehow._

_Thanks for listening,_

_SE_

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Assholes_ **

_My dear Scholar,_

_I would have to be an absolute fool to not respond to your ramblings. In fact, I would be one of those assholes you speak of. (I recently moved here from England and am trying to force myself not to write “arseholes” here.) Speaking of, glad we’ve established that our fathers are terrible, all men are terrible, and that whoever you thought was perhaps not terrible, is indeed terrible._

_Poor Scholar, it seems that you have had a worse evening than even I had. And I had a dreadful evening. It is so damn difficult to have faith in people. I’ve found only a few of them in this life, but one really must hold on to them. Tonight, for example, I came home from my dreadful evening to find my daughter fast asleep on the couch because, according to the sitter, she had tried and failed to stay up for me._

_And then, the dear sitter, who is one of the only tolerable men I’ve met in this world, somehow sensed that there was something wrong, and instead of prying, he simply made me a cup of tea and chatted with me about books. I know it is stereotypically British of me to be comforted by tea and books, but it was more that this man I barely know sensed I needed something kind and simple and did what he could to give it to me._

_Reading this back, I’m unsure how it will really help you, in fact it might read as bragging, but I’ve already done a lot of bragging on these emails, so might as well send it on the off chance it cheers you up!_

_xx_

_HG_

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Assholes_ **

_Thank you for the response, you have proven yourself to not be an asshole. A hard won victory reserved strictly for you and kindly babysitters who make tea. I don’t think that story came off as bragging at all, I think it’s sweet. It’s nice to hear about simple pleasures. Though, yes it is very stereotypically British to be soothed by books and tea. But it’s also endearing._

_When I was a kid, I was unbelievably awkward and didn’t know how to make friends, and as you know, had an asshole dad, I would read these books where people wrote letters and watch movies where kids had pen pals, and I always wanted that, but I didn’t know how to start. What I guess I’m saying is that I’m enjoying having one now. Even if it’s a famous dead author. Beggars can’t be choosers, can they?_

_Even so, I’d probably still choose you._

_-Your penpal_

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Penpals_ **

_I would choose you too. In a heartbeat._

* * *

“This is weird, right?”

“Yes, duh, it’s weird, Claude.”

“But you said she would be in a bad mood today.”

“I did say that, yeah.”

“But now she’s just smiling at her phone. I would even venture to say good mood.”

“I would too. Listen, I don’t know what happened, last night I thought she was going to commit bloody murder, but I guess not.”

“I thought you were good with the vibes.”

“I am good with the vibes! That’s my thing.”

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” Myka asks, looking up at Claudia and Pete. 

“Yup.”

“Oh, most definitely.”

There’s a pause, then Claudia ventures, “so why are you smiling at your phone?”

Myka feels herself flush. “No reason.”

“Do you have a cruuuush?” Pete teased. 

“Aren’t there customers?” Myka says pointedly.

“Uh, we aren’t open yet, Mykes.”

“Right.”

“So, who’s the crush?” Claudia asks, “Hot mom?”

“Ix-nay on the ot-hay om-may!” Pete says hurriedly. 

Myka groans. Her idiot employees and the delightful HG Wells had been distracting her from the much less delightful Helena Wells. Huh, Wells. She wonders if HG would find it amusing if Myka told her that her pseudonym shares a last name with her new nemesis. Maybe not. Not the best way to flirt. Not that she’s trying to _flirt_ with her _penpal._ She’s not fifteen. 

“Hey!” She's distracted by Claudia snapping her fingers in front of Myka’s face. “Earth to Myka.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“So what’s the game plan?” Claudia asks, with the same look on her face she had when she stayed up for three days straight perfecting Bering and Sons’ online ordering. Myka had given her an inordinate amount of overtime and made her promise not to do it again. 

“Game plan?”

“For getting rid of Wells?” Pete says. 

Myka isn’t sure if it’s because she got very little sleep last night, or because she emotionally opened up over email, or because she’s just so tired of this Wells Emporium crap, but either way she puts an arm around Claudia and Pete and pulls them to her. 

“I love you guys, you know that right?”

“Jeez, Mykes are you _dying?”_

“I’m not dying, can’t I just be proud of my employees for planning sabotage against the corporate man?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Even if the corporate man looks a lot like a hot mom,” Pete says. 

Claudia hits him. “Dude, we were having a moment.”

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Not-assholes_ **

_You know, I thought a lot about what you said about keeping around the few people who do give you faith in humanity. Those people for me are 100% my coworkers, I mentioned them before. Technically, they’re my employees, but since there are only three of us it’s kind of become a little family. I can’t imagine coming to work without them there, and I know this makes me a huge dork, but most days I actually look forward to coming to work._

_I think I’ve been dwelling in all the ways this little perfect place I’ve carved out could be taken down, or how I could lose my work and my family in one fell swoop, instead of thinking about how lucky I am to have them. So I’m trying to think of it that way, thanks to you._

_I hope you are finding your not-assholes in the world too, HG Wells._

_-SE_

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Not-assholes_ **

_You give me too much credit, I’m afraid. If the ones in your life and in your employ are as interesting and wonderful as you, I’m sure they’re the best sort of people. I hope you form a merry band against whatever mysterious force is that is trying to take down your family. I’m sure you’ll prevail._

_I wish I had such a lovely workplace to report to every day. I find myself quite jealous of you in that regard even though I’m sure you deserve it more than I. In my case, my job makes me rather wish I could just run away and never look back. Well, I sort of did the first part of that a few months ago, running away to America. But I’m still roped into this damn job for my damn father._

_Today, I almost threw everything out and quit. But then I thought of college tuition and rent and not letting my daughter ever feel the kind of neglect I did growing up, and I couldn’t quite do it. So enjoy it, Scholar, it’s rare what you have._

_Sorry if what I said destroyed your newfound positivity, I don’t feel like myself much today._

_xx,_

_HG_

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: burn it all down_ **

_Okay, new rule of this pen pal thing: you don’t get to apologize for feeling how you’re feeling. That’s some normal-world shit. In here, you can say what’s on your mind, no matter what mood you’re in._

_The mysterious force trying to take down my business/family is actually not so mysterious, simply the evils of 21st century capitalism. Which is also trapping you in your shitty job with your shitty family, I’m sure. Like how messed up is it that you have to do something you hate just so you can pay for your daughter’s tuition? I’m working on taking down various corporate overlords at the moment, I’ll let you know when I’ve made progress._

_Anyway, I was going to say tell me about your job, but I won’t. Again, in real life, we always have to talk about our jobs, but you and I don’t have to play by their rules. So tell me about what you would be doing in an ideal world, if you didn’t have the overbearing weight of money and responsibilities weighing you down._

_Cheers,_

_SE_

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: burn it all down_ **

_Oh, we’re making rules now I see? Sexy. Should we have a safe word, as well? May I suggest capitalism? Given as I have clearly been talking to Karl Marx this whole time, disguised as a kind and clever woman who likes first editions._

_But thank you, darling, your rantings did lighten my mood significantly. As did your request for me to not talk about my job. Thrilled to never speak of that ghastly place again._

_Please don’t make fun, given that everyone and their mother is trying to write a novel, but that is my ideal world without the spectre of capitalism (Blast! I said our safeword!) weighing over me. I have told nobody this, mind you, but I do have a manuscript collecting proverbial dust on my computer. I’ve worked on it for years, and edited it for years, yet there it sits, taunting my cowardice for doing nothing with it._

_You are the first person who even knows of its existence, so don’t take this lightly, Scholar._

_xx,_

_HG_

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: 2 questions_ **

_1) Are you, the infamous HG Wells, flirting with me, the infamous Karl Marx? If only the world knew. Or if I knew._

_2) Can I read your novel?_

* * *

Helena breathes in, breathes out. Her therapist tells her that breathing is important when dealing with anxiety. She’s not quite sure what she’s feeling right now is exactly anxiety, but it’s definitely related. 

She feels giddy, excited, more than she’s felt in a few years, and it’s due to some stranger on the internet asking if she was flirting. Which of course she was, she’s Helena God Damn Wells, who will flirt with anything that sounds remotely like an intelligent and beautiful woman. And God, it feels good to flex that muscle with someone as receptive and as unpredictable as whoever her Scholar is. 

Then, underneath the giddiness, there is the dread. She stands across the street from Bering and Sons, so close that she can see the outline of Christina and other children laughing during their story hour. She breathes. She can do this. She’s just a mother picking up her child. The distractingly attractive and frustratingly obtuse Myka Bering can’t hurt her. Not in front of Christina. Not that she’s proud of using her daughter as a shield, but here they are. 

She crosses the street, about to enter the shop, when a flyer on the door catches her attention. **Support local!!** It screams at her in a well designed font. **With more and more corporations flowing into Colorado Springs, we need to support our friends and neighbors.** There’s a website and social media in tabs along the bottom, several of which have been pulled out. 

Well, bullocks. It’s smart, Helena thinks, something that her Marxist penpal would love, she’s sure, but dreadfully inconvenient for her right now, a month before she’s supposed to open her father’s store. It just won't do. 

The damn bell jingles when Helena walks in, making her presence immediately known. Perfect. Christina and the other children are still gathered around Pete, so Helena only attracts the attention of a young redhead behind the counter. Myka Bering, thankfully, does not seem to be around. 

“Hi,” the redhead cheerfully greets her, “welcome to Bering and Sons.”

“Thank you.” Helena steps closer to the counter. She sees an opportunity and takes it. “I actually noticed your flyer out there. Could you tell me more about it?”

The girl lights up. “Oh, hell yeah. Designed them myself! It’s basically all there on the front. We have a twitter and all that too. I think a lot of people here don’t realize just how important stuff like the bookshop and other local businesses are here. Like, my boss gives me healthcare and works crazy hours just so I can go to grad school, and she can do that because people come in here and buy books. And the same is true with a zillion other local businesses. We just want to remind people of that.” She grins up at Helena. “Sorry, that was super rambly.”

“No, it was quite lovely,” Helena responds honestly. It _was_ lovely, and not quite the answer she was hoping for. She’s not sure what she was hoping for, but it definitely wasn’t more guilt about how her (her father’s, she reminds herself) business is intent on destroying this town. 

“What the _fuck_ is she doing here!” 

Helena is torn out of her guilty spiral by the appearance of Myka Bering, who is coming down the steps like a woman out for blood. 

“Jeez, language! There are kids, like, everywhere right now,” the girl says. 

“Claudia, do you know who this is?”

Helena holds out her hand to Claudia, “Helena Wells, at your service.”

Claudia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wells, huh?”

“Fucking Wells,” Myka supplies, who is now standing on Helena’s left against the counter. This close, Helena can see an angry flush to her cheeks, and a more than usual disarray to her hair. It’s distractly sexy. She tears her gaze back to Claudia, who is looking at her with a wide grin.

“Wells, you sly, sly, dog,” Claudia says in a way that might be slightly admiring, “that was very smooth.”

“What did she do?” Myka presses.

“Asked about the flyers.”

“Of course she did.”

“I’m still here!” Helena protests, “and I apologize for inquiring about your attempts at sabotage.”

“Try community organizing,” Myka protests. 

Helena can’t help but smile at that; it’s something that her Scholar would say.

“Why are you smiling?” Myka asks, “You shouldn’t be smiling.”

“Sorry, you just reminded me of someone I know.”

“Who do _you_ know that I remind you of?”

Helena smirks. “Karl Marx.”

This shuts her up. She stares at Helena, wide-eyed, like her brain is processing something. Then she shakes her head.

“Wow, that was great entertainment,” Claudia says, “Pete was not lying.”

“Speaking of your Pete,” Helena sees the opportunity, “I simply came to pick up Christina, if you’ll excuse me.”

As she goes to fetch her wild child, she can hear Claudia stage whisper to Myka, “wow, she _is_ hot.” Helena grins. Maybe going inside the shop wasn’t such a bad idea. 

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: 2 answers_ **

_1) Oh Karl, you relentless flirt. You would think I am the working class with how much you are wooing me._

_But the answer is a genuine yes. I, HG, the person not the author, am desperately flirting with you, the person, not the communist leader. If that’s quite all right with you, that is. I know it’s odd, given that I don’t know what you look like or where you live or what your name is. But I’d like to think I’ve gotten to know who you are on some level. And I quite like what I see. And I would quite like to flirt with her. And I hope she would like that as well._

_Pardon me, if I’m too forward._

_2) Dear god, haven’t I embarrassed myself enough for one evening? But I’ll think about it._

_Love,_

_HG_

* * *

Myka’s breath catches in her throat. _Love_ . It’s just an email sign off. But it’s a new email sign off. Myka noticed when HG switched over to the sweet _xx,_ but this feels bigger. This, plus the body of the email. It makes Myka’s heart stutter, her skin grow warm, at how absolutely forward this HG is. Surely more forward than anyone has been with Myka in years. 

Well, there was that one remark that Helena God Damned Wells made before Myka knew that she was Helena God Damned Wells. But Myka doesn’t want to think about that Wells. Myka wants to think about _her_ Wells. 

Even thinking of HG as _her_ Wells makes the hairs on Myka’s arms stand up. God, what is wrong with her? She looks at the words again _And I quite like what I see._

She opens a reply, then closes it. What is she supposed to say to that? She’s not as good with her words as HG Wells is. She’s not even sure if actual HG Wells is as good with his words as her HG Wells is. She opens a reply again. Then her eyes glance at the chat option at the side of the screen. Before she can think better of it, she opens a chat window and types in it. 

_SE: Hi._

She waits. A minute ticks by. This was dumb. Emails were good. This is a new level, no time to craft anything. HG wrote a novel, she probably loves writing the emails, and now Myka has ruined it for her. 

Then three dots appear. 

_HG: Well, this is new._

_SE: Good new or bad new?_

_HG: If I’m talking to you, darling, it’s good._

_HG: Unless, of course, you’re writing to tell me that I was far too presumptive in my last email._

_SE: It’s not that._

_SE: Quite the opposite._

_HG: Oh?_

_SE: I realize I don’t know what time zone you’re in but it’s one a.m. for me. and I can’t fall asleep because of your email._

_HG: I’m flattered. It’s one a.m. for me too. I know the feeling._

_SE: Oh wow, THE HG Wells is on mountain time?_

_HG: I’m full of surprises._

_SE: So surprise me, HG._

_HG: You can read my novel._

_SE: Oh my god._

_SE: No one else even knows it exists, and you’re letting me read it?_

_HG: Plausible deniability._

_SE: That’s how you ended your very first email to me._

_HG: Good memory._

_SE: Don’t let it go to your head. I actually have an eidetic memory._

_HG: Show-off._

_SE: So I’ll remember every work of your novel._

_HG: What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Steve asks Helena when he comes over on Saturday morning, armed with a wide smile and a bag of bagels.

“Rude way to say hello to the woman who is giving you money.”

“Fair point. I brought you guys breakfast though.”

“Steve, you’re a saint.”

“I know.” He gives her a small grin.

Helena leads Steve into the kitchen, where Christina jumps into his arms effortlessly before snatching a bagel.

“Smooth move, little pickpocket.” He gives her a high five. 

“Can we go to the bookstore while Mum has to work?”

“Your mom’s bookstore?”

“No, the good one.”

Helena chokes on her tea. Christina looks at her, her brown eyes big and sweet.

“Sorry mum, it’s true.”

Christina’s clearly trying to let her down gently. Helena, God help her, loves this child so much sometimes she could melt on the spot. 

“You’re correct, darling, but if you breathe a word to your grandfather, no more trips to Bering and Sons.”

Christina nods, seriously, miming zipping her mouth shut. 

“Good girl.”

Christina beams, then runs frantically off to get changed. 

“I see why you don’t get any sleep,” Steve comments. Helena glares again. He holds up his hands in apology, and Helena can’t help it. There’s something about this young man that makes her want to be honest. And she’s tired of hiding this one, exciting part of her life. 

“Christina didn’t keep me up,” she admits. “There’s actually - you can't laugh at me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’ve been talking to a woman on the internet.” Helena looks up at Steve, who looks nonplussed. She supposes it’s actually quite normal to talk to a woman on the internet these days. “At first it was just about a book and then it just became something I looked forward to every day and last night we talked for hours and it just felt... right.”

Steve’s grinning at her. “That’s really great, Helena.” 

“No, it’s not really great! I don’t even know her name! Or where she lives.”

“So ask her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It could be,” Steve says with a shrug. “You deserve good things, you know.”

And Helena has absolutely no idea what to say to that. 

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: have you finished yet?_ **

_Yes, I am aware that I sent you my manuscript about eight hours ago, but you are a fast reader with an eidetic memory, so hurry it up!_

_I jest, of course, take your time. I’m just incredibly anxious about someone reading what I’ve poured my heart into over the last decade. Especially when I care so much about what that person thinks. So forgive my impatience._

_I’m also rather in a sour mood today, quite honestly. Being made to work on a Saturday is barbaric. This job is actively taking away cherished time with my daughter and once again, I dream of leaving it._

_I hope you enjoy my words, dear Scholar._

_Love,_

_HG_

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: have you finished yet?_ **

_Calm down, I just woke up. But I’ll have you know, I stayed up three hours after we stopped talking just reading your words. HG, it’s really incredible. I won’t say more until I finish (I plan on taking extensive notes, don’t you worry), but wow, you’ve got something special here._

_Your words! HG! Wow! Whew, I gotta stop. I know it will get to your head. But, I don’t know, maybe quit your day job. Or think about it. Your talent is wasted on something you hate._

_Yours,_

_SE_

* * *

Myka is well into her third cup of coffee by the time she actually makes it down the stairs to the store. The usual Saturday morning crowd mills around, which Pete and Claudia are more than prepared to handle. It won’t speed up till the afternoon, and hopefully Myka will be more awake by then. 

“Rough night?” Claudia asks her with a smug smile. She’s standing behind the counter, chatting with a man with a buzz cut and dimples. 

“Rude way to greet the woman who signs your paycheck,” Myka responds with a glare. 

The man looks up at Myka at that, tilts his head slightly, gives a small smile, then looks back to Claudia. Weird. 

“Oh, Myka, this is my pal Steve! We have some classes together and he came in here with…” she pauses, looks over at Steve, then around the shop, “a kid he’s babysitting.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Myka says, coming down to lean on the counter herself. Is everyone acting strange this morning or is she just sleep deprived? She needs another cup of coffee. Or something to eat. Or to go upstairs, curl into bed with HG’s manuscript, and never talk to anyone again. 

“You too,” Steve says, “hey, I have some extra bagels from earlier if you want one.”

One out of three’s not bad. She takes the bagel eagerly. Claudia’s still giving her a look. 

“Dude, are you okay? You always yell at us not to eat in the shop.”

“I always yell at _Pete_ not to eat in the shop. And I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep much last night.”

“And why is that, Miss-Eight-Hours-a-Night?” Claudia raises her eyebrows at her. 

The thing is, she doesn’t mind Claudia’s teasing at all. In fact, part of her wants to be teased by her friends about HG, someone how that would make it more real. And Myka, God help her, wants it to be real. 

“I’ve been talking to someone,” she says slowly.

Claudia’s face lights up. “A someone who has made you smile a silly smile at your phone for the past couple weeks?”

Myka blushes. “Maybe,” she mumbles. 

“Myka! Who are they?”

“That’s the problem,” she says, with a dramatic sigh, “I don’t know who she is, I just know what she’s someone I like talking to. So much that I’m staying up way too late reading her words and wanting more from them.”

Steve, who Myka had almost forgotten about, shoots her a quizzical look. 

“Hey, don’t judge me Steve, you gave me a bagel.” She knows that doesn’t make sense but she’s so tired and a little elated at finally telling someone about HG. 

“No judgement here,” he says quickly, “a lot of people seem to love talking with strangers on the internet instead of sleeping.”

“Yeah I basically did that instead of high school,” Claudia says. She leans over to playfully hit Myka in the arms. “So tell me about her!”

Myka does. She has never been an oversharer but there is something so big and wondrous about HG that makes Myka want to let everyone know. She tells them about the first email and then the responses, the sweet encouraging things HG would tell her, and then chatting for hours last night. She omits the novel, though, she doesn’t want to expose HG’s secret, even though the odds are high that these people will never meet her. 

By the end of her story, Claudia is open-mouthed and Steve looks like he just was hit by a truck. Not the reaction she was expecting, but she just met the guy five minutes ago and told him more about her love life than she has ever told anyone. God, _love life._

“Myka, I’m so happy for you!!” Claudia squeals. 

“It might be premature for that Claude, I don’t even know her name.” 

“Well, what does she sign her emails?”

“HG Wells.”

Steve suddenly starts coughing. So much that he leans over the counter and Myka kindly pounds his back. When he can breathe again, he gasps, “Wells?”

“Yeah, HG Wells. You a fan?”

“You could say that.”

“Steve, are you okay, bud?” Claudia asks. 

He nods. “Yeah, wrong pipe or something.” He looks at Myka with a rapidly growing smile. “Wells, huh?”

“Wells!” A voice calls from around the corner and then the young Christina Wells herself is running up to Steve and grabbing his hands.

“Wells!” he repeats, grinning, “that’s you, ya little rascal! You find your book?”

She nods, holding out _The Subtle Knife._ Myka grins, in spite of herself. 

“Wow, you already finished the first one! We got a little speed reader on our hands.”

“Thanks Ms. Bering,” Christina says, shyly, a tone Myka has not seen on this child. 

“Myka,” she corrects again. “I’m happy you like them.” Then, because she has no filter this morning apparently, “where’s your mom today?”

“Steve is watching me while she has to do _work.”_ Christina makes a face at the last word. Myka agrees.

“Being made to work on a Saturday is barbaric,” Myka quotes without thinking. 

“You make _me_ work on Saturday,” Claudia complains. 

Christina giggles. “Working here seems fun, though. When mum does work she mostly just groans and says bad words. And tries to make grandfather angry. Last week she said they should postpone the opening to grandfather over video and his face got soooo red.”

Myka almost falls over. “Did you say postpone the opening?” She glances at Claudia who is grinning madly. 

“Wow, we were going about this all wrong. We could have just been grilling the kid.”

“That doesn’t seem the most ethical,” Myka says, but she’s smiling too. She glances at Steve, who holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Please, for the love of God, leave me out of this,” he says, “Christina’s got this one.”

Myka kneels down, so she’s eye level with Christina. Interrogating a child about her mother’s business is not what Myka thought she would be doing today, but it’s been a crazy 24 hours, so why not lean into it?

“Christina, does your mom not want to open the Wells Emporium?”

Christina looks up at Steve, then back at Myka, who feels a little guilty, but not guilty enough to stop. Then Christina slowly shakes her head. Myka’s heart leaps. 

“She said that when we moved here it was for me and her to start something new, but she also had to open the store for grandfather. But she doesn’t like it. She even said today that this store is better than Wells Emporium-”

“She said that?” Myka feels her heart beating fast. She has spent the last few weeks resolutely hating Helena Wells. But if Helena said that her little bookstore, her pride and joy, was better than Wells Emporium? Well, that could change things. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough for now,” Steve says, hoisting Christina into his arms, “no more spilling family secrets to the nice bookstore people.”

“Thanks, Christina,” Claudia says seriously, finding her a piece of candy from the register. “You’re our best little double agent.” She offers up a fist for Christina to bump. 

“Don’t call her that,” Steve says, but with affection for both of them. 

Myka, still kneeling, is only half paying attention. Helena Wells likes her store. Why does she care so much that Helena Wells likes her store? It doesn't change the fact Helena Wells is still going to open the place that is planning on putting her out of business. But Christina had said _postponing._

“Myka, you good?” Claudia asks. 

“I think I’m gonna go back upstairs, if that’s okay.” She stands up. “Call me if you need help.”

Claudia nods, looking concerned. Myka waves a goodbye to Steve and their sweet little spy before going back up to her apartment. God, she’s tired. And confused. She falls back into bed and, without thinking, opens her laptop. She wasn’t confused last night, when she was talking to HG and reading HG’s manuscript.

So she puts aside thoughts of the morality of questioning children, and everything that confuses her about Helena Wells, and opens HG’s novel.

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: your book_ **

_When I was a kid, I used to take a new book up to my room every day and read it cover to cover instead of sleeping. I would be tired the next day at school and my dad would yell at me, but it was so worth it, just to be caught up in these worlds and stories. It’s been years since I did that. I think it might have been in my early 20s when the last_ Harry Potter _came out, but that was over a decade ago._

_The point is, after not getting any sleep the night before, I still stayed up half of the night reading your book. HG, I read a lot of books. It’s part of my livelihood, it’s what I’m passionate about, it’s how I meet incredibly talented and flirty authors on the internet, apparently. So trust me, it’s been a long time since I’ve read something like this. I feel like a lot of science fiction/fantasy authors get caught up in world building (love him, but I blame Tolkien), but you blended it so effortlessly with the character growth. And the twists! I gasped multiple times alone in my apartment at midnight once I hit the last few chapters._

_I’ve attached my specific notes here, which is mostly praise, so do remember something called humility. There are a couple critiques though, so don’t hold it against me. Overall though, I’m wowed._

_Sorry if it’s not my place, but I actually have a friend/mentor type person who works in publishing. I would be more than happy to talk to him about this manuscript. It deserves to be seen by people other than me. It deserves to hold shelf space on bookstores around the world. Say the word and I’ll call up my friend. I’m serious. I might need to know your name first, but I want to help you get published. I want to help you get out of your shitty job with your shitty dad and be able to write books like this and pay for your daughter’s college and live a better life._

_You deserve it._

_Love,_

_SE_

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: your book_ **

_I think I’m falling in love with you._

Helena stares at her screen. Well, she can’t very well send that. She quickly deletes it.

_My name is Helena Wells, I live in Colorado Springs, but I will go wherever you are just so I can kiss you._

That won’t do either. Helena stares at her blank email screen. After a terrible day of arguing with her father over paperwork and hiring and trying to convince him again to let her postpone the opening, she felt like giving up. But to wake up to this - Helena hasn’t stopped smiling. She doesn’t want to give into hope so easily, but the words still ring in her head. _You deserve it._

“Mum?” 

Helena looks up to see Christina poking her head into Helena’s bedroom. It’s barely sunrise, too early for her to be up for a Sunday, and her eyes seem slightly downcast. Instantly, Helena’s stomach clenches. 

“Come here, love,” she says softly, pulling up the blankets so Christina can crawl into bed next to her. Her little body scrambles up the bed and she nestles herself into Helena’s side. Helena sighs against her. Christina will, very occasionally, have a nightmare or a bad day that causes her to cuddle up against her mother like she’s five again, but it’s becoming all too rare. Helena kisses the top of her head. 

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“Yesterday,” Christina mumbles down at her hands, “I may have said some stuff I shouldn’t have.”

Twenty minutes later, Helena is outside of Bering and Sons, fist in pain from pounding against the locked door. 

“Myka!” she calls from the sidewalk, “Myka Bering, come the _fuck_ down here!”

She bangs her fist against the door again rapidly, and kicks it a few times for good measure. Just when she thinks she will have to camp out on the sidewalk until the shop opens, she sees a figure come to the door. Myka’s eyes meet hers through the glass, and Helena feels her rage blossom up again. 

“Helena?” Myka’s voice is low and slow with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

“A better question, Bering, is why the _hell_ are you asking my daughter questions about my business.”

Myka’s face pales. “Helena, I’m-”

“She is an eight-year-old child! She is the sweetest thing that the world has ever seen. Don’t bring her into this mess of businesses and money and rivals! I don’t give a fuck how quaint and independent your store is and that mine is just the big scary corporate enemy. Make your flyers! Save your customers! Fight with me all you want! But it you _ever_ bring Christina into this again, I’ll-”

Helena stops, catches her breath. She didn’t realize she had gotten closer to Myka during her speech, and finds herself breathing quite heavily. She suddenly notices that Myka’s mouth is open, and her hair is absolutely _unruly_ and she’s wearing a thick rimmed pair of glasses that make her look different and gorgeous and if Helena wasn’t so _angry_ and maybe in love with someone she met on the internet, she would want to kiss her right now. 

Helena steps back. That was unexpected. 

“You’re right,” Myka is saying, “that was out of line-”

Helena doesn’t even have time to appreciate Myka Bering saying she’s right. She quickly turns around and walks out of the shop, letting the door slam and the bell ring behind her. That’s quite enough conflicting emotions for one day, thank you very much.

She breathes, tries to center herself. She needs to focus. She needs to think of what she actually wants and let everything else fall by the wayside. 

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: your book_ **

_Can we meet?_

  
  


_SE: Three words in response to the longest email I’ve sent? Way to make a girl feel special._

_HG: You are special._

_SE: Three more, I see. Equally significant._

_HG: You have yet to answer my question._

_SE: Yes._

_HG: Yes?_

_SE: Yes I want to meet you. Though I know nothing about where you are except the timezone. Dear god, don’t make me fly to Montana._

_HG: You would fly to Montana for me?_

_SE: I’d fly to England for you._

_SE: Oh god, I can’t believe I just typed that._

_HG: I’d do the same, darling._

_HG: Colorado. I live in Colorado._

_SE: Oh my god, oh my god, HG!_

_SE: I live in Colorado too._

_HG: What was that you said in your first email? Fate?_

_SE: And I said I don’t normally say things like that._

_HG: But here we are._

_HG: Fate, my dear scholar._

* * *

Myka can’t stop smiling. Claudia and Pete have been giving her hell about it all morning, but she doesn't care. She doesn’t care that Claudia tells a random customer that her boss is feeling sappy about her “internet girlfriend.” She doesn’t even care that her morning started with a confrontation with Helena Wells justifiably yelling at her and then looking directly at her _mouth_ before leaving abruptly. 

None of that matters. All that matters is that on Wednesday, she is driving to a coffee shop in Denver (they had discovered they both live within an hour of the city) and she is finally going to meet HG Wells. 

“So what do you even know about her?” Pete asks, as he scans in new orders. 

“She knows that she’s in looooovee,” sing-songs Claudia. 

Myka blushes. “Calm down! I don’t even know her name.”

Pete gives her a look. 

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Steve says, who has been hanging around the shop recently. Not that she minds, it’s nice to see Claudia with a friend from school. And the guy already knows all about her odd personal life, so what’s the harm? 

“Thank you, Steve,” Myka says pointedly. “And to answer your question, Pete. I know a lot. I know she loves books just as much as I do. And tea, and science fiction, and her kid. And her kid’s babysitter.”

“Really? She does?” Steve says, with more excitement than Myka’s heard from him in the short time she’s known him. Then quickly, “I just, you know, gotta love when people respect a babysitter. Speaking of, would you guys mind if Christina hangs around a little bit after story hour this week? I’ve got class till 5 and her mom’s…. Busy.”

“Doing what, running our business into the ground?” Pete scoffs, but then his voice softens. “But yeah, of course she can hang here, I love that kid.”

“Are we sure she’s running our business into the ground, though?” Claudia says, “I feel like that coming soon sign has been there for weeks, but nothing has changed.”

Myka thinks of what Christina said about her mom not even liking her own store. She thinks of Helena’s fury this morning, not at all about Wells Emporium, but about her kid. She thinks of how Helena _looked_ at her. Then she shakes her head. These thoughts aren’t helping anyone. 

“I still don’t trust her,” Pete is saying. 

“I don’t know, guys,” Steve says, with a secretive smile playing out on his face, “she’s really great once you get to know her.”

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: today_ **

_When we meet today (today!!), once we’re done with the shock and awe, exchanging names, telephone numbers, and perhaps some physical affection, if I’m lucky, I would love to talk about your friend in publishing. Do you really think he would take on my book? It had been a pipe dream for so long, but it seems more and more tangible each day._

_I fear I am nearing the end of my rope with my father and this job. I have an urge that crawls up under my skin to take what he has built, tear it down, and walk away. I’ve been delaying the inevitable I think, but time has a way of catching up to us all, does it not?_

_I’ll have more to say on the subject once I actually see your gorgeous face and talk to it directly. In just a mere matter of hours. I am absolutely buzzing._

_See you soon,_

_HG_

* * *

Helena thinks it’s rather ironic that they settled on a coffee shop. Not that Helena’s much of a coffee drinker anyway, but she knows if she were even to have a drop of caffeine right now, she would explode. During the drive over, her fingers had constantly tapped on the steering wheel, and she hadn’t taken in a second of the audiobook she was listening to. 

She parks outside the coffee shop and remembers to breathe. In and out. It will be fine. She’s going to walk in the door and she's going to see a woman in her mid-30s (if Helena’s math about the latest _Harry Potter_ release is accurate), who will no doubt be beautiful, reading a first edition HG Wells. When Helena has suggested that as their signal, her Scholar had told her she was ridiculous, but also that she did have a first edition _Time Machine_ so why not. 

Helena braces herself, takes one last deep breath, and pushes open the door to the coffee shop. 

Only to see none other than Myka Bering sitting with a worn first edition of _The Time Machine._  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Even in her days of light crime, Helena Wells has never moved or escaped faster than she does now; the sight of Myka Bering spurring her into action. She swiftly turns on her heel before anyone, specifically one person, can see her. 

Well, fuck.

Helena paces the street outside the coffee shop. Then she sits down on a bench. Then leaps up the steps to the door, but hurries back down, her body unable to keep still.

Her brain whirs at an unbelievably rapid place. Myka Bering, who despises Helena, who stands against everything about her and her family, who Helena screamed at first thing in the morning, _that_ Myka Bering is Scholar’s Eye. Who collects first editions, and loves Helena’s words and told her that she deserves better in this life. 

_I could lose my work and my family in one fell swoop,_ she had written, and Helena thinks about the way Myka interacts with Pete and Claudia at the bookstore, with fondness and thinly veiled affection, and a fierce protectiveness. And Helena is the person who could take that all away from her. She is the corporate asshole that her lovely Scholar fights against.

Helena puts her head in her hands and let’s out a long-suffering groan. No matter how she tries to escape it, her thoughts keeps coming back to the fact that Myka Bering hates Helena’s guts. The worst part is that Helena doesn’t even blame her for it. 

She should drive away now, cut her losses, and never think of Myka Bering again. But Helena’s never been particularly risk-averse. Before she can fully process the action, her feet are taking her back to the door of the coffeeshop, head swirling with foolishly hopeful thoughts. Maybe Myka doesn’t hate her as much as she thinks. Maybe something can be salvaged. And, a depraved part of her brain informs her, at least she now has proof that her pen pal is, well, hot. She breathes, allows her heart rate to slow, and steps back into the shop. 

The image of Myka, wearing a nicer than usual shirt and a hint of lipstick, while glancing down at the book, makes Helena’s pulse speed up again. She’s always known Myka was beautiful, annoyingly so, but knowing everything now makes her beyond simply attractive. She’s breathtaking.

Helena steels herself and walks over, all practices confidence and nerve, and gracefully deposits herself in the seat across from Myka. Myka glances up with hopeful eyes, which quickly narrow on seeing who it is. Helena tries and fails not to feel a rush of disappointment. 

“Did you come all the way to Denver just to yell at me again?” Myka challenges, venom in her tone. “Or do you only do that at ungodly hours of the morning?”

“You look lovely in glasses, darling, you should wear them more often,” Helena says smoothly, taking herself by surprise. 

Judging by her expression, it surprises Myka just as much. 

“Thanks?” she sputters our, as if it’s a question, before quickly remembering who she’s talking to and stiffening. “Now, can you leave? I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

“Anyone I know?” Helena has no idea what she’s playing at, but she can’t just let Myka sit here alone.

Myka scoffs. “Please.”

“I know a lot of people, you know.”

“Trust me, the person I’m waiting for is the opposite of you. She’s kind, and funny, and just the right amount of daring. And she’s… she’s good. She’s going to be remembered, I’ll bet. She’s going to be someone people talk about.”

Helena’s breath catches in her throat. No one has ever said something like that about her before. And Myka doesn’t even know she’s saying it about her. She is tempted to open her mouth and tell Myka that it’s her, it’s her, it’s been her this whole time.

But Myka keeps on talking. “Unlike you, Helena, you won’t be remembered for anything except caring about your precious bottom line and ruining anything that gets in your way. And I don’t want anything to do with that. Or you.”

Helena sucks in a breath. Is that really all Myka thinks of her? She opens her mouth to think of some clever comeback, but can’t think of one, for once. 

Instead, she says, “I suppose that’s my cue to leave. I hope whoever your person is shows up.” 

With that, she walks out of the coffeeshop and doesn’t look back. 

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: today_ **

_I’m still sitting here. I’m very aware of how pathetic it is, trust me. I’ve always been bad at taking the hint, but God, I wish you would have showed up._

_A person showed up who wasn’t you. It was someone I really didn’t want to see, especially when I had been hoping for you. I said some pretty awful things to her. I don’t think of myself as someone who says awful things, but there I was. After she left, I started thinking about you. About your kid and your job you hate and how this person also has a kid and in all likelihood, a job she hates. So maybe things aren’t as clear cut as I want them to be._

_Anyway, I wish you would have come. I’m sure you have a good reason. I really hope you didn’t take one look at me and walk out. I couldn’t bear that, to be honest with you._

* * *

Myka wants the store to be empty by the time she gets back, but today is apparently not her day in any regard. Through the window, she can see Claudia and Pete having an animated conversation by the register, while Steve looks on in amusement, and Christina Wells is perched on the counter. 

On any other night, the image would warm her heart. Her family - with some interesting recent additions - but still her family. But now, she sees three people with expectations of her non-existent date, and a wonderful child that is a genetic reminder of Myka being the worst version of herself. She wonders if she should go around the back, but Steve catches her eye immediately, so she sighs and pushes open the door. 

Four heads immediately pivot to her. She wishes the floor would swallow her up. 

“So?” Pete says eagerly, “how’d it go?”

“How’d what go?” Christina asks.

“Myka had a daaaateee,” Pete teases.

“Oh!” Christina exclaims, “just like-”

Steve clamps his hand over Christina’s mouth. There must be some inside joke with this child that she doesn’t get, but she doesn’t care to figure it out right now. 

“She didn’t show up,” Myka says softly. 

“I’ll kill her,” Pete says, simply. 

Myka lets out a weak chuckle. “It’s fine, you guys.”

“It’s clearly not fine. I’ve never seen you like this about someone and she has the nerve to stand you up!”

“Not helping, Pete.” Claudia shoves him, then her face lights up. “Hey! You said she has a kid, didn’t you? Those things are unpredictable, right Christina?” Christina giggles. “See! Maybe there is just kid stuff. Or traffic. Or work.” 

Claudia has a sort of manic excitement about her that Myka knows is for her benefit. She appreciates it, but God she’s tired. 

“Thanks,” she says, “I promise I’m fine.” 

Steve purses his lips, then looks like he’s about to say something to her, but doesn’t. Instead, he scoops Christina up in his arms, making her laugh. 

“Come on, squirt, let’s get you home to your mom.”

“Wait,” Myka calls, quickly making a decision, “Christina, can I talk to you for a second?”

It’s clearly not what any of them were expecting, but she has to do something about her gnawing guilt and she can actually fix this. Steve puts Christina down and Myka finds herself kneeling again, like she did a few days ago. 

“Hey,” she says softly, “I just want to say I’m really really sorry if I asked you too much about your mom and the store. That wasn’t cool.”

“It’s okay!” Christina says brightly. Myka smiles. Despite all the family stuff, this is a good kid, she can feel it in her bones. 

“Good. And also I want you to know that you can hang out here anytime, okay? And so can your mom. I’m sorry if I ever said anything mean about her, she’s an extension of you and you’re the _best_ so she can’t be too bad.”

Christina grins. “The best, really?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, kid.” She stands up and ruffles Christina’s hair. 

Steve is looking at her with an expression she’s never seen on his face. Then, in a flash, it’s gone and his simple Steve smile is back. 

Myka shakes her head. She’s reading too much into everything tonight. She waves goodnight and heads up the stairs. She tries, when she’s finally alone, to not immediately check her email. She fails. There’s no new messages. 

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: today_ **

_Dearest Myka,_

Well, that won’t work. 

_My dear Scholar,_

_A giant tree fell across the road. Took out all cell towers as well. And my car. I hitchhiked to you but you were gone._

She deletes that one too, sighs. 

_The truth is, I know that you would hate me. I know that you do hate me. I am one of those assholes you speak of. I don’t deserve anything you gave me. Go find someone better._

Helena frowns. That’s a tad dramatic, even for her.

_How many British single mothers do you think there are in the greater Denver area? Who also have a fascination with literature and complain about their work and have a connection to the surname Wells? You’re dreadfully smart Myka, but quite obtuse on this matter._

She deletes it. That one was more for her anyway. She puts her head in her hands. What the _fuck_ is she supposed to say here? She lets out an excessive groan into a couch cushion. 

Which is how Steve and Christina find her, coming into the apartment with a burst of energy. 

Helena slams her laptop shut. Steve raises his eyebrows at her state, but Christina carries on as if nothing has happened, bless her. 

“How was your date, mum?”

Then again, curse this child. 

“It, ah,” Helena is not trying to explain how many ways it possibly went wrong to an eight-year-old at the moment so settles with, “didn’t end up happening.”

“Lot of that going around,” Steve mutters.

"Huh," Christina says, making her patented thinking face up at Steve then back at her.

Helena them both a quizzical look. 

“I’m sorry about your date,” Christina says, thinking face falling as she comes over to give Helena a kiss on the cheek. Helena holds her close until Christina squirms away. “Sheesh, mum, you’re being weird.”

Steve grins. “You’ve been hanging out with Pete too much, saying things like ‘sheesh.’" His smile falters a bit as he leans down to Christina. "Hey, kid can you do me a favor and let me talk to your mom alone for a sec?”

Both Wells stare at him with the same confused expression. “It’s about boring stuff,” he hastily adds, “money and taxes and work and paychecks.”

“Ugh,” Christina says. 

“Exactly.”

“Okay, you go be boring, I’ll read until it’s done.”

“That’s my girl,” Helena says with a small smile, which disappears as soon as Christina leaves the room. “Steve, is everything alright with your payment? I’d be happy to increase it if that’s what you need. Please don’t tell me you're quitting. After the day I’ve had, I can’t handle any more bad news.”

“No, God no!” Steve says quickly. “I was just saying that to get Christina to leave.” A small smile comes over his face. “But I’m pretty sure you did just offer me a raise…”

Helena lets out a breath. At least one thing isn’t falling apart today.

Her relief is short lived, however, as Steve clears his throat and cautiously asks, “so why did you ghost her?”

Helena chokes on nothing. “Wh-what?” 

“Ghosting, you know, like standing someone up, leaving them on read.”

“I know what ghosting means, Steve, I’m not _that_ old! But how do you know...” She trails off. It’s not possible. Steve can’t know; he’s clearly talking about something else. This is all a one of those slapstick comedy misunderstanding moments that they will laugh about later. It has to be.

Steve joins her on the couch, gaze kind and unsettling at the same time.

“People tell me things,” he says with a shrug. “I think I just have one for those faces. That people want to tell things. Especially certain bookshop owners who have certain pen pals that go by the name of HG Wells.”

Helena nearly falls off the couch. 

“So why did you stand her up?” He presses. It’s not aggressive, because it’s Steve, but there’s something hard in his voice that Helena hasn’t heard before. “Because she’s really great, Helena.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Helena hisses, “she’s smart and gorgeous and thoughtful and cares so much about the people in her life. With the one glaring exception being me.” She takes a breath, anger falling away and leaving a much worse feeling in her gut. She takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t stand her up, Steve. She just took one look at me and let me know I was the last person she wanted to see. She hates me.”

Helena blinks away something that is absolutely not tears. She swallows. She’s not going to cry, damn it. She’s not going to cry about the woman who she’s been thinking about for weeks never wanting to see her again. She won’t do it. 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Steve says softly. He puts a hand on Helena’s shoulder. 

Helena snorts. “You should have heard what she said to me. She wants nothing to do with me.” She looks up into Steve’s kind eyes. “She deserves better.”

Steve, surprisingly, whacks her on the arm. “Don’t say that shit.” Helena raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard the man swear. “You deserve to be happy. And so does she. And in my humble opinion, you would make each other happy. So get over yourself.”

Helena starts, stunned. Somehow it's both the sweetest thing and harshest thing that Steve has ever said to her. She offers him a small wry smile. 

“What do you want me to do, woo her?”

He grins. “I wouldn't have used those words, but yeah.”

Helena thinks of how Myka was when they first met in the bookshop, all smiling and eager to help her, thinks of the way Myka’s eyes took her in at that party, before she found out who she was. But then she thinks of Myka when she did find out, the times she’s screamed at her, the way her eyes hardened in that coffee shop.

“Trust me,” she tells Steve, “I want to, I want nothing more than to woo the hell out of Myka Bering. But there is the one detail of her despising me.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know about that.” He raises his voice then. “Hey, Christina, can you come out here and tell your mom what Myka said to you today?” 

Helena gives him a look. He simply smiles at her.

“People can surprise you, HG Wells.”

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Yesterday_ **

_My Dearest Scholar,_

_The word “sorry” seems too small to encapsulate what I should say to you. I’ve drafted dozens of emails and they all seem to be full of excuses and avoid getting to the heart of the matter. Which is that my behavior was absolutely dreadful. If you do not wish to correspond with me, or forgive me, I fully understand._

_Selfishly, I wish you would, but that is not my decision to make._

_My life, as you may have glimpsed through my words, is not ideal. There are circumstances involving fathers and money and other awful things of that matter. Having you to write with and to laugh with and to get to know was something fully good and fully mine and fully removed from that life. I thought I was ready to merge the two, but to be honest, I am a coward. I was afraid that you wouldn’t like me, that you would immediately see the worst aspects of me and rightfully turn away._

_I am sorry for my cowardice. I am sorry that I made your afternoon so awful. I am so very sorry._

_I have plans to get things in order in my life. Messes that I’ve been putting off cleaning. I think it’s about time I begin that housekeeping. When I have, I would still love to meet you in person, my Scholar. I beg that you will be patient with me. But if you can’t, I fully understand._

_Love,_

_HG_

* * *

“I think you should write her back.”

“No way, she flaked, she doesn’t deserve you!”

“But she promised to get better! It’s romantic.”

“It’s not romantic, it’s dumb!”

“Hey!” Myka shouts at her two well-meaning idiot employees. “I can make my own decisions!” 

Pete and Claudia both nod at her, but look fully unconvinced.

“Also, isn’t this supposed to be a community organizing meeting?” she adds for good measure. She knows she’s kind of dropped the ball on her small business crusade, but she’s been distracted recently. She is determined not to be distracted any more. 

“Right,” Claudia says, “even though it's kind of just the three of us hanging out after closing.”

“But with snacks,” Pete adds, joyfully partaking in said snacks. “Also I’m still confused as to why we're having this meeting. We put up the flyers, got some new customers, Wells Emporium postponed again, badda bing, badda boom.”

Myka wants to yell, “Because I don’t want to think about stupid fucking HG Wells and my stupid fucking feelings anymore, but you two keep bringing it up!”

Instead she steadies herself, “I don’t think it’s that simple, Pete. There’s definitely something going on with Wells that we don’t know about.”

“From what Christina said,” Claudia says, having the grace to look a little guilty about citing their eight-year-old spy, “it seems like Helena isn’t the biggest fan of her own business. Maybe we can get her on our side.”

It’s not much, but it’s something. And Myka needs something to hold onto right now. 

“Okay, so let’s talk to Helena Wells.”

Both Pete and Claudia's pivot to her, then start talking at the same time. 

“Well, _I_ shouldn’t be the one to talk to her.”

“I barely know the woman.”

Myka sighs. “Fine, _I’ll_ talk to Helena Wells.”

She ends up getting Steve’s number from Claudia who gives her Helena’s number in a matter of minutes. Myka stares blankly at the contact on her phone. Should she text her? 

_Hi this is Myka Bering, remember when I was cruel to you for no real reason in Denver? Anyway, wanna work together to take down your own business?_

Not texting then. A phone call. It might be an awkward conversation, but communicating via the written word hasn’t done great things for Myka recently. She will call Helena Wells. She will act like a civilized adult and call Helena Wells. She looks at the time. It’s 9pm. Probably too late to call. Definitely too late to call. She will call in the morning. 

When morning comes, the number still taunts her. Eight might be too early, she decides. Despite the fact that Helena came to her door far before eight the other day. And the fact that she is raising a child who has to go to school. Eight is still too early. 

_It’s not too early to send an email_ , an annoying voice in her head reminds her. Myka groans. She decides to go on a run. 

The streets are mostly empty, which lets Myka head down them faster than her body wants her to, but she’s determined to not think for once. Just to breathe and sweat and move. It works shockingly well. By the time she’s back on her block, her feet are sore, her legs are cramped and she is not thinking about who she should be calling or emailing. 

She stops to catch her breath on a patch of grass across the street from Bering and Sons. She lies back, letting the grass cool her shoulders and the crisp spring breeze hit her face. Her eyes close and her breath slowly comes back to her. 

“Are you quite alright?” She hears a voice from above her and blinks her eyes open.

There stands the woman she was purposefully not calling, looking down at her with an amused smile and a hand offered. She takes the hand, and Helena Wells pulls her up to her feet. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Myka says, once she’s standing. She’s suddenly aware of how she must look, hair in a messy ponytail, practically dripping sweat, her top half only clad in a sports bra. 

She sees Helena’s eyes take it in as well, and Myka feels an odd hint of pride at Helena Wells who, despite everything, is one of the most gorgeous people Myka has ever seen, clearly checking her out. She remembers running into Helena at Artie’s party, the way she had been unable to keep her eyes off of the exposed skin of Helena’s collarbone. 

“You’ll find my eyes are up here,” she jokes now, recalling Helena’s words from the party. 

Helena smiles, meeting Myka’s eyes. “Eidetic memory.”. 

Myka tilts her head. “When did I tell you that?”

“You didn’t,” Helena says quickly, “ah, Claudia did.”

Myka wants to ask why Claudia was talking about her with Helena and how that fun fact came up. But she knows she should probably get to the point. 

“I, actually,” she looks down, “wanted to talk to you. Apologize really. I said some horrible stuff to you the other day, and it was out of line, and really had nothing to do with you. The Christina stuff too, that was…” She pauses, running out of words, so she borrows some before she can think better of it. “The word 'sorry' seems too small to encapsulate what I should say to you.”

She finally looks up at Helena who has an expression that Myka hasn’t seen on her face before. She looks stunned. God, is it so surprising that she would apologize? 

“We all say things we don’t mean at times, don’t we?” Helena says thoughtfully. “I know I do. I have to you, in fact. I’m just very, shall we say explosive, when Christina is involved.”

“As you should be. You’re a good mom.”

Helena’s eyes widen at that, and a smile that can only be described as dazzling spreads across her face. This would be a lot easier, Myka decides, if Helena wasn’t so stupidly beautiful.

“Thank you,” Helena says, brightly, “you are too.”

“I’m not-”

“I know how you are with your Pete and Claudia. It’s clear to everyone who walks into that shop that you’re a family. And I understand that I was a threat to that. I would say something much worse, if my family was threatened.”

Half of Myka’s brain is ridiculously touched by this sentiment, at Helena’s seamless forgiveness and how she somehow intrinsically understands Myka’s situation. The other half sees her window of opportunity. 

“Thanks,” she says, wishing she was less red and out of breath, “speaking of, you know, everything-” She gestures vaguely at the _Wells Emporium: Coming Soon_ sign behind her. “Do you really want this store to open?”

This clearly wasn’t what Helena was expecting. “I - what?” 

Myka, more than a little satisfied at rendering Helena Wells speechless instead of the other way around, continues. 

“Just, the opening has been postponed so many times, and you never seem to talk about Wells Emporium as something you're proud of. And it has the power to do some pretty bad things to some pretty great people in this town. Something tells me you already know that, and you don’t want to be a part of it. And you don’t have to be.”

She pauses for breath. She looks up at Helena, whose face is unreadable, opening her mouth like she’s about to protest. Myka jumps in before she can.

“And this might be way off base here but,” she thinks of HG again and her daughter, “if it’s about money for Christina, there are so many people here who care about her like family and you’ve barely been here a month. I mean, Pete would take out a second mortgage just so she could go to Harvard if it comes down to it. So we’ve got your back. If you’ve got ours.”

Myka had not expected to quite go where she did, especially that last part, but she’s happy she said it. And it’s true, weirdly enough. She looks into Helena’s face, which is open-mouthed and staring. It might be the bright morning sun, but Myka thinks she seems something like tears glistening in Helena’s eyes. Well, that’s unexpected.

Helena looks down, and chuckles a little bit. “Well, that was quite a speech.”

“Yeah, I should have started it, ‘Sons of Gondor!’”

Helena laughs at that, really laughs, looking at Myka with a sly look in her eyes. “You know,” she says, “I’ve always thought Tolkien focused too much on world-building myself.”

Well, that’s not where Myka thought this conversation was going. 

“I agree,” she says, flashing a smile at Helena, then remembers what she’s doing. “Anyway, what do you think?”

“Of joining your rebel forces to take down my family business?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ll think about it.”

With that, Helena turns on her heel and walks toward the empty Wells Emporium building. Myka hurries after her, ignoring her sore body’s protest. 

“I gave you my Aragorn speech, and I get an ‘I’ll think about it?’”

Helena shoots a smug smile over her shoulder. “Yes.”

Myka feels herself smiling back and she doesn't know why. “So when can I get a real answer?”

Helena stops, looks as if she’s really considering it, then glances down at Myka’s chest and says, “Maybe when you’re wearing a shirt.”

Then she has the audacity to wink, and walk away. 

Myka, God help her, has no idea what to do with that. 

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Forgiveness_ **

_Okay, HG, I’ll forgive you._

_It probably shouldn’t be so simple, but I’ve been playing at forgiveness of myself and others recently, and it feels really damn good on both ends so I’ll give it back to you here._

_I hope you work on all the stuff you need to work on. Tell your dad to fuck off, get your book published, etc. Do it all! Whew, sorry, I’m kind of on an endorphin high right now. Well, actually you should thank the endorphins for even emailing you so I take back my apology._

_Don’t you just love Colorado in the spring?_

_-SE_

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Forgiveness_ **

_Is there a way I can send your endorphins a care package? I feel that I owe them a severe debt of gratitude. Perhaps a first edition George Eliot will suffice._

_Either way, I cannot thank you enough for lowering yourself to talk to a mess like me. That said, I read back my last email and it was rife with self-deprecation so I’ll spare you more of that drivel from here on out._

_I find Colorado in the spring to be absolutely stunning. Do you ever have a day where something unexpected and wonderful happens, the color of the world is brightened, and beauty is apparent in places it was not before? I’m having one of those days, and you writing me back is the perfect way to finish it._

_Thank you, once again._

_Love,_

_HG_

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Forgiveness_ **

_I’m having one of those days too. Glad we can share in it._

* * *

“Mum, why are you smiling at your phone?”

Helena quickly turns her phone face down on the kitchen table. 

“Can’t I just be happy on my phone?”

Christina shrugs. “You usually aren’t”

“Fair point.”

Christina sits down across from Helena, giving her a searching look, like a tiny psychologist. 

“Are you talking to your internet girlfriend?”

It’s all Helena can do not to spit out her tea. “Where did you even learn that phrase?”

“Last week at the bookstore Claudia told me that Myka was smiling at her phone because of her internet girlfriend and then Myka got all red and said ‘she’s not my girlfriend!’ It was pretty funny. Anyway, maybe you could be smiling at your phone because you have an internet girlfriend too.”

This time, Helena’s glad she’s already swallowed.

“I don't have an internet girlfriend. Or any girlfriend.” She pauses, puts down her tea. “You know, darling, if I were to have a girlfriend, internet or otherwise, it would be someone who cares about you very much.”

Christina nods absently, like she’s heard this a thousand times. Which she has, but she could at least pretend to pay attention. Suddenly her eyes sharply turn to Helena. 

“Where were you on Wednesday night?”

Once, when Helena was sixteen, she was careless in stealing a bottle of expensive scotch from a liquor store, and was questioned by a police officer. This is worse.

“I told you, I had a date, but then it didn’t work out.”

“Hmm,” Christina says slowly.

Helena almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. Sometimes she wishes she had raised a stupider child like her brother did. Christina is eight, yet she is talking to her like a small detective, and is probably about ten seconds away from figuring out what people four times her age still haven't pieced together. 

“You know Myka at the bookstore?” Christina says, slowly.

Ten seconds wasn’t giving her enough credit. Helena feels a swell of pride at her genius kid, even if it is a very inconvenient time for her to be genius-ing. 

“I’m familiar, yes.” Helena says, slowly. 

“I like her.”

It shouldn’t make Helena’s heart do what it does to hear Christina say this, but here she is. 

“I like her too, love.”

“Like, like her?”

Dear God, this is not the conversation she wanted to be having this morning. She breathes in.

“If I did like, like her…” Christ, she sound like a child. An _American_ child. “Would you be all right with that?”

“Duh,” Christina says, and Helena feels relief wash over her so forcefully she’s taken aback. 

“You really do have to stop adapting Pete’s speech habits, darling,” she says lightly. “But thank you. That’s… thank you.”

“So are you guys dating? On the internet?”

Helena cannot catch a break today apparently. 

“Not yet,” she answers truthfully. 

“Why not?”

Great fucking question. 

“I, well, I have to finish up some business things before I can. Date her, that is. If she’ll have me.”

“Business with grandfather?”

“Yes, well, if I’m being honest, it’s about not having to do much more business with grandfather.”

She realizes this is the first time she’s actually said it out loud. She’d run the finances after her thrilling conversation with Myka, and well, they were better than she thought. She still regrets being rebellious enough in a pre-Christina world to demand to be cut off from her family’s money, and only take it, in a post-Christina world, if it meant doing an actual job. But she has savings; she’s not an idiot. She’s just scared.

She’s been frightened for almost a decade that if she made a choice that big and it hurt Chrsitina, she couldn’t live with herself. And perhaps, she was frightened of more than just that. She has always been a Wells, first and foremost, genetics preceding what people thought of her. It was been awful for the most part, but there was a twisted sort of safety in it. And she is about to let that all go.

“Christina,” she says now, trying to keep her voice light, “would you be all right if we fully parted from Wells Emporium?”

“Duh,” Christina says again. Dear God, her child is becoming American. 

“Really?”

“You don’t like working for grandfather.” Christina shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Helena has almost three decades on this child, but somehow she’s still smarter than her. 

“No, I don’t.” 

And just like that it’s easy. She doesn’t like working for her father. She hates it. She can do this. She hears Myka’s voice in her head. _Pete would take out a second mortgage just so she could go to Harvard_. Everything will be fine. 

Suddenly, she’s restless. She stands up from the table forcefully. “How would you like to pay a visit to your favorite bookstore?”

Christina nods eagerly. 

“And Christina!” Helena puts on her best intimidating mother voice. “If you breathe a word of what we talked about to Myka, you will never set foot in there again.”

Christina nods seriously, but they both know Helena’s lying. 

If anyone asks, she will say it’s Christina’s idea to come in today. No one asks, though. As soon as the bell chimes their entrance to the store, Christina makes a beeline for Pete, whose face breaks out in a grin when he sees who it is. 

“Oh man, my best friend visiting me at work? Best Saturday ever!”

Christina giggles. “I’m not really your best friend, am I?”

Pete looks like he’s seriously thinking it over. “Well, Myka is technically my best friend, but she never helps out during my story hour, so it’s really a toss-up.”

“Watch it, I still sign the checks around here,” Myka says, coming out from around the corner, giving Pete and Christina equally affectionate smiles. 

She messes up Christina’s hair a little bit as she passes, and Christina gives her an adoring look.

Helena feels something inside her melt. Myka looks up to meet Helena’s eyes and that something melts further. She suddenly doesn’t know what to say. She remembers, at some point in her life, she was good with women. The other day, when she and Myka had talked, she had gotten a bit of that charm back, but seeing the way Myka acts around her daughter renders Helena speechless. 

“Hey Myka,” Christina says cheerfully, “how’s your internet girlfriend?”

Myka blanches. Helena considers filicide. Christina shoots her a look that is far too _evil_ to exist on the face of a child so adorable. God, she really is her mother's daughter. The teenage years are going to be trying, at best. 

“Wow, nothing gets by you, kid!” Pete says happily, giving Christina a high five. 

“Internet girlfriend?” Helena asks, trying to present as teasing and casual and not someone who's world may fall apart at any moment. 

“Haven’t I embarrassed myself enough around you?” Myka half-jokes.

“Not nearly enough, darling,” Helena responds smoothly. Maybe she does still have it. 

Pete looks back and forth between the two of them before leaning down to Christina. “Hey do you want to help me do inventory while your mom and Myka have weird tension?”

Christina nods. Helena doesn’t look forward to the conversation they are going to have after this.

Once they leave, Myka heaves a dramatic sigh, but she’s still smiling widely. Helena wants to kiss her. 

“Okay,” Myka finally says, “I feel like everyone else knows about my embarrassing shit, so why not you too?”

Which is how Helena ends up spending what has got to be the most surreal half hour of her life, in which Myka tells her all about _her_. At about a dozen different times, Helena wants to shake Myka’s shoulders and tell her to see what is right in front of her, damn it. She refrains. She also refrains from jumping with delight when Myka says something good about “HG Wells.”

“So, anyway, that’s why I was a dick to you in the coffeeshop. She never showed. And we’re talking again, but, God, I’m still so afraid she got one look at me then turned and walked out the door.”

Before she knows what she’s doing, Helena reaches across the counter to cover Myka’s hand with her own. “I guarantee you that’s not what happened.”

Myka looks down, “That’s sweet, but-”

“No,” Helena interrupts, “none of that. You are an absolutely stunning person, Myka Bering. It’s obnoxious, actually, how good looking you are. Distracting, really. Makes it hard to sustain negative feelings toward you. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Myka laughs a little, meeting her gaze. She’s blushing, Helena realizes. It’s so frustratingly endearing. 

“Thanks,” she says softly, looking right into Helena’s eyes, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

“For once, I wasn’t fishing.” 

Helena still finds herself warmed to her toes. God, she could just reach over this counter, grab Myka by her collar and-

“Anyway,” Myka says quickly, clearing her throat, “don’t think you can flatter me out of talking about what we discussed the other day.”

“Don’t underestimate how good I am at multitasking.”

Myka grins at this, a wide lopsided thing, that Helena adores. 

“But,” she continues, “I’ve thought about what you said. And I’m in. Let’s kill the family business.”

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Marx here_ **

_I know you used to tease me for my Marxist tendencies, but recently I’ve been helping a friend with a project that may or may not involve sticking it to an old white man who runs a corporation and God, it feels GOOD. This is just my weekly plea for you to do the same, even if that old white man happens to be your father. Scratch that, especially if that old white man is your father._

_Just something to think about. Also, the offer still and always will stand with my publisher friend._

_-SE_

_HG: You’re ridiculously sexy when you talk about taking down the proverbial and literal man._

_SE: Come on, you don’t even know what I look like._

_HG: I have quite the overactive imagination, darling._

_SE: God, HG, you can’t just say things like that to me and not meet me in person._

_SE: Shit._

_SE: I’m sorry._

_SE: I know you are sorting out your life right now, I didn’t mean to pressure._

_HG: Soon._

_HG: I promise._

_HG: I just need a little more time._

* * *

“Are you sure?” Myka asks. 

“I’m sure.” 

Helena’s voice is shaking though, and Myka notices the way her eyes don’t quite meet hers. She takes Helena’s hands and clasps them in her own. 

“Hey,” she says softly. “Look at me.” Helena does. “You don’t have to do this now.”

“I believe you were the one encouraging me, darling,” Helena says with a small smile. 

Myka shrugs. “Plausible deniability.” 

Helena gives her this _look_ that she's been giving her on and off the past few weeks they’ve been working together. A look that’s curious and unreadable but somehow makes Myka’s heart pound. Myka tries to press down the energy that buzzes through her veins. 

“If all else fails,” she jokes, “I could call him.” She puts on a horrendous British accent. “Oh hello darling father, it is I, your terrible black sheep of a daughter. I regret to inform you that I am saying bugger off to the family legacy, and not opening the bloody store over here in the colonies.”

Helena starts laughing loudly, bracing herself on the counter, and Myka is pleased to notice the tension draining from her body. 

“Oh god, please don’t tell me I sound like that,” Helena wheezes, once she catches her breath.

“Pretty much.” Myka tries and fails to keep a straight face. 

Helena swats her gently on the arm and it’s nothing, just a teasing touch between two people who have, against the odds, become something akin to friends. Myka knows she shouldn’t feel anything every time Helena’s fingers brush her arm, and her heart shouldn’t do what it’s doing right now when Helena laughs, but here she is. It’s unfair really, Myka went years without more than a passing attraction to anyone, then suddenly there is an unspeakably beautiful woman, here in her bookshop, laughing with her, and there is a remarkably sweet and intelligent woman who writes her and Myka is so full of want she could just burst. 

“Alright, you’ve made your point, I’ll call him,” Helena says, seemingly unaware of Myka’s internal turmoil. “But you are buying me a drink after, you instigator.”

The word instigator should not read as a compliment or flirtatious in any way, but the way Helena says it makes Myka’s breath catch and her cheeks flush. She has got to get it together. 

“You’re on,” she says to Helena, who gives her a little mock salute before taking her phone and stepping outside. 

Myka watches her through the window as she paces, phone pressed to her ear. At one point she stops, and starts going on a clearly very angry rant over the phone. A couple passersby step out of her way. Myka grins. She’s happy not to be in the receiving end of that rage anymore. 

“Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

Myka whips her head so fast that her neck cricks, just to see Claudia standing behind her, grinning like a smug teenager. 

“I do not!” Myka protests, like a less-smug teenager. 

“Okay, buddy.” Claudia pats her arm like she’s five. “For the record though, I think you’d be great together.”

Myka, in spite of herself, is touched. “Really?”

“Ah-ha! I knew you liked her.”

“Shut up!”

“Omg you’re _blushing,_ omg it’s so _cute!”_

“Claudia I will fire you on the spot.”

“No you won’t, you loooooove me, just like you looooooove-”

“Claudia!” Myka puts a hand over her mouth. It’s effective. She sees why people always do this to Christina. 

"Sorry,” Claudia mumbles through the hand, “I just want you to be happy, okay?”

It’s so genuine that Myka can’t work up the nerve to be mad at her anymore. She drops her hand. Then she drops her whole body, sitting on the floor, nestled behind the counter where no emotions should be able to find her. Claudia looks down at her in confusion before joining her, nudging their shoulders together. 

“Hey,” she says, with more gentleness than Claudia usually possesses, “this should be a good thing, right?”

Myka remembers when Claudia was just a scrappy 15-year-old, coming into the shop right after it became solely Myka’s, arguing about _Star Wars_ novelizations with anyone who would listen, until Myka eventually realized something wasn’t ideal about this kid’s home life. So she gave her a job, and the skittish teenager slowly turned into one of Myka’s best friends, who is now sitting on the floor with Myka, giving _her_ romantic advice. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know that, right?”

“You are weirding me out!” Claudia laughs, “Is Myka-with-a-crush always this sentimental?”

“God, I don’t know. I feel like I’m twelve. I’m a grown woman, I’ve liked people, I’ve dated people, I’ve had sex with people-”

“Gross.”

“-But this is different. I don’t know, what if I make the wrong choice? I like both of them so much. Even though one of them is just on the internet and the other one I spent most of my time fighting with, I just… what do I do, Claude?”

Claudia puts her arm around Myka and Myka leans into it. 

“I think you might be overthinking this one,” she says, “just, uh, follow your heart or whatever?”

“Gee, thanks,” Myka says, but she kisses the top of Claudia’s head. 

Their moment is interrupted by the door chiming open and a shout of, “where the bloody hell are you?”

Myka and Claudia stand to see Helena, eyes bright and face flushed, brandishing her phone like it’s a medieval weapon. She has a maniacal grin on her face. Myka finds herself echoing it. 

“Did you do it?” She asks breathlessly. 

“I did it!” Helena cries. “I feel, I feel, invincible. God, I should have told my father to fuck right off years ago. And tied up one of his stores in paperwork hell! I haven’t felt this good in years!”

Here excitement is contagious. Myka feels it buzzing up her skin all the way down her legs. She can’t stop smiling at the pure joy bursting from Helena.

“You really did it,” she beams at Helena.

Helena grabs Myka’s hands across the counter. “ _We_ did it, Myka.”

“Aww,” Claudia coos. Helena turns to look at her. 

“Claudia, darling, have you been standing there this whole time?”

Claudia lets out a long, loud laugh. “Yep. And that’s my cue to skedaddle on out of here.” She ducks out under the counter. “Congrats Helena,” she says, then walks toward the back, shooting Myka a _significant_ look over her shoulder. 

Myka pointedly ignores her, turning back to Helena. “So, how are you feeling?”

Helena’s smile, if possible, brightens. “I could climb Everest right now.”

“You could take it on.”

“I could take on anything with you, darling.”

Myka’s breath catches. Before she can stop herself she says, “do all British people overuse the word ‘darling’ while flirting?”

Helena gives her the _look,_ and then laughs almost too lightly. “First of all, I’m wounded by your use of the word ‘overuse.’ I think I use it just enough, thank you very much. Secondly, maybe you just bring it out in us… _darling.”_

Her hands are still on Myka’s and now she’s leaning slightly toward Myka over the counter, with a gleam in her eye. Myka wants to lean toward her too, wants to see what Helena’s face does if Myka pulls her closer, opens her mouth against Helena, and gives into what she’s wanted for days. Instead, Myka gently removes her hands from Helena's own, clears her throat.

“Thank you, again for doing what you did. I don’t know if Bering and Sons could have survived if you had ended up going through with the store.”

“Please, I should be thanking you. You gave me the courage to do what I should have done years ago.”

“So, what’s next?” Myka asks, and then, before she’s aware of the words leaving her mouth, “finally publishing that novel?”

 _Wrong person_! Her brain screams at her a moment too late. But Helena is looking at her with that same look in her eyes and oh God. _Oh God_ . The daughter. The business. The babysitter. The coffee shop. Plausible deniability. Tolkien. Fucking darling. _Wells._ It hits her with the force of every book in her shop. 

“Novel?” Helena asks purposefully lightly. Myka just stares at her. 

It has to be her. It _has_ to be. There is no way to chalk this up to coincidence. There are too many things in common, besides the fact that both HG and Helena make Myka feel like she is bursting out of her skin. _But maybe_ , a gharrish voice in the back of her head tells her, _you just want them to be the same person so you don’t have to choose one of them._

Helena is still looking at her with an indecipherable look on her face. Myka can’t look at it. What if she’s wrong? What if she’s going to break someone's heart?

“I was thinking of someone else,” she says quickly. 

Helena blinks, then looks away. “Right.”

 _Please tell me I’m wrong_ , Myka thinks. But Helena doesn’t.

* * *

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Cards on the table_ **

_Okay, HG Wells. Here we go. As my friend Pete would say, I’m shooting my shot. I have theories, one really, but I’ve been told not to overthink things. So I’m not going to._

_My name is Myka Bering. I live in Colorado Springs, above the bookstore Bering and Sons, which I own. Google the address. Come meet me. I know you need to work on your shit, but we all have our baggage. And I’m sorry, but I can’t really wait any longer. Life has a habit of moving on, you know?_

_I hope you’ll show up. I really hope you are who I think you are. I hope that you publish your novel and that you start thinking more highly of yourself. You’ve changed my life, HG, and I hope the feeling’s mutual. If it is, come tell me in person._

_Love,_

_Myka_

* * *

“And you _still_ haven’t told her?”

“I have a plan, Steve!”

“Does it involve, I don’t know, telling her?” 

“Of course it does,” Helena hisses. It also involves a George Eliot first edition, a nice dinner, and hopefully fantastic sex. But Steve doesn’t need to know that. 

“I think she’s been sufficiently wooed by now,” Steve protests. 

“Has she now?”

“Oh, don’t sound so cocky.”

“It’s simply my nature!”

“I’m just saying she’s been strung out long enough.”

Helena winces a little at his words, but she knows he’s right. “I just want it to be perfect.”

His face softens a bit. “I know. But it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just hasn’t to be you.”

He has got to stop staying things like that. She thinks a dam broke when she finally told her father off, on Myka’s advice. Both Mykas. The few days that have passed since then have felt freer, like she can breathe again, with a side effect of this constant _feeling_ . She has felt an undercurrent of sentiment that activates when Steve says sweet things like that to her, or when Christina runs up to her and gives her a hug after school, or when Myka looks at her like she _knows._

Then there’s the gnawing fear in her gut that even if Myka knows, she’ll still reject her. Both parts of her. 

“I have one more thing to do,” she tells Steve, “just one more.”

“You _still_ haven’t told her?” she hears Christina shout from her bedroom. 

“Smart kid,” Steve comments, purposefully casually. 

“I hate you both.”

Arthur Neilson’s office is messy in a way that tells Helena that he knows exactly where everything is, but any other person would be lost in here. Helena has only met the man once, at that disastrous party, but she’s picked up from around town that he used to be a big deal in publishing, and now lives in a state of semi-retirement. He’s also a big fan of Myka Bering, which is a point in his credit. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks Helena, giving her a skeptical look through round glasses and sounding the opposite of pleased. 

“It’s nothing about my family,” Helena says quickly. She’s well aware that the Wells name isn’t too popular around here. “Trust me, if one could emancipate herself this late in life, I would.”

This causes a slight twitch to Arthur’s mouth, almost a smile. “So what brings you here?”

Now comes the hard part. “I, well, I’ve heard from certain people, that you are the man to go to about publishing. I understand that I’m unrepresented and an unknown within the literary world, but I’ve written something that I’ve been told should see the light of day. And I hope you can help me do that.”

He seems nonplussed. “Huh,” he says. Then, after an unbearably long pause, “you pissing off your family seems like a good enough reason for me to hear you out. Let’s see it, then.” 

With that, Helena pulls her manuscript that only two pairs of eyes have seen and places it on the cluttered desk. Helena feels her heart hammering through her ribs. This is it. This is the moment. 

Arthur adjusts his glasses, then flips it open to the cover page. He stares at it for a second, then back up at Helena, before quickly thumbing through the book. 

“Is this a joke?” He asks abruptly. 

Helena has been anticipating some form of rejection but this just seems cruel. 

“I - what?”

“I asked if this is a joke Ms. Wells, because,” he rummages around in his desk for a few seconds. Helena just stares until Arthur pulls out another thick stack of papers, “someone dropped off the same exact manuscript just two days ago.”

“But that’s not-” she cuts herself off when she sees that it is the exact same title as hers. But no author is listed.

“Look, I don’t know if you and Myka Bering are in cahoots or something-“

Helena feels her breath catch. “Myka Bering?” she manages to get out.

Arthur looks at her like she is the stupidest person he’s ever met. 

“She’s the one who gave it to me.”

Helena’s mouth falls open. Oh. _Oh._

Arthur, unaware of the revelation unfolding in Helena’s head, continues. “She kept going on and on about how it was the best sci-fi she’s read since Jemisin and that I would be an idiot not to pass it along. She was being cagey about the author, but kept insisting I read it.”

“And?” Helena lets out shakily. 

“Not bad,” he says casually. “Actually, pretty damn good. Though I don’t understand why both of you had to drop it off separately and cryptically.”

Myka gave her book to Arthur. Myka gave _her_ book to Arthur. Even though she had thought “HG Wells” hadn’t wanted to meet her, Myka still cared enough to try to get her book published. Helena feels something rise in her chest. No one has ever done something like that for her before, no one’s ever simply believed in her, with no exceptions, just faith. Not Helena Wells of Wells Emporium, but just her.

She stands up rapidly. “Arthur, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll explain it all to you later and I’m thrilled beyond measure that you liked the book, but I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Authors,” he mutters, “always with the dramatics.” But his eyes twinkle up at her. “Go on, then.”

“Thank you!” she calls as she makes it out of there as quickly as she can, feeling a bit of thrill at the word _author._

She doesn’t remember getting to her car nor the ride. All she can think about is her need to get to Myka Bering as fast as possible. Her hands are steady when she forces the door to Bering and Sons, but she feels like she could combust at any second. 

“Hi, Mum,” she hears upon entrance. 

Wow, her kid really is always here, isn’t she? Helena looks around to see a familiar tableau; Steve and Claudia chatting at the counter, Pete and Christina taking over the kids section, a stray customer being charmed by the whole shop. But there’s one piece notably missing. 

“Where’s Myka?” She asks breathlessly, and apparently quite loudly, as all the heads in the room turn to her. 

Steve gestures his thumb to the back, with a massive smile overtaking his face. She nods at him and heads to the back, where she finally sees Myka herself, looking breathtaking in the classics section, wearing her glasses and scanning titles. She catches Helena’s eye as she approaches and gives her a small lopsided smile. God, Helena loves her. 

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here-“

Helena cuts her off. “You gave my manuscript to Arthur.”

Myka stares at her, beautiful mouth falling open. A smile starts to creep up her face. 

“Say that again.”

Helena takes her carefully constructed plan, sets it on fire, and throws it out the window. She takes a step closer to Myka so that Myka is caught between her and the bookshelf. 

“I said,” she draws out slowly, carefully, “that you gave _my_ manuscript to Arthur. And you didn’t even know it was mine.” 

“HG,” Myka breathes. 

“The one and only.”

Helena isn’t sure what she expects. Perhaps for Myka to gasp in surprise, or to fight Helena on it. 

Instead, she grasps Helena’s collar firmly in both hands, pulls her closer until they are centimetres apart, says, “thank _fucking_ God,” and kisses her firmly on the mouth. 

Myka kisses her like she’s been thinking of nothing else for months, like no one else in the world exists. Helena feels quite drunk on it, the decisiveness in Myka’s lips, the way she smiles against Helena’s mouth when it falls open, the way her hands fist in her shirt. 

“I wanted it to be you,” Myka whispers against her mouth, “God, I needed it to be you,” 

“It’s me,” Helena breathes back, surprised that she still had the capacity for speech.

Myka pulls away, looks Helena straight in the eyes, and demands, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Helena doesn’t have time to respond, because Myka threads her fingers in Helena’s hair and starts kissing her again, and Helena cannot remember what words are. 

Until Myka pulls back again.

“Seriously, it’s been weeks since that coffee shop in Denver, Helena.” She kisses her again. “Weeks!”

“If this is how we argue now,” Helena pants when she finds air, “I think we should do it more often.”

“We could have been doing this the whole time-” Myka kisses her again. “-If _somebody-_ ” Again. “-Had told me.”

Helena thinks she might pass out. “I wanted it to be perfect,” she whispers, resting her forehead against Myka’s. 

She feels, rather than sees Myka’s smile. “It would have been perfect no matter what, you idiot.”

And Helena has absolutely no idea what she can possibly say that can be as wonderful as that, so it’s her turn to kiss Myka, pressing her back up against the books. Myka lets out a soft gasp, and they don’t argue anymore after that. 

If Helena had the capacity to acknowledge anything besides Myka’s mouth and the way her heart is pounding out of her skin, she might have been attune to some chatter just around the corner of the small bookstore.

She might have heard someone who sounds like her daughter asking, “what’s taking them so long?”

And Claudia telling her, “trust me, kid, you don’t want to know.”

And Pete saying, “what do you mean?” then, “Oh, _oh_ , wow, who would have seen that one coming?”

And Steve sighing, “literally everyone. Where have you been?”

And Christina asking him, “does this mean I don’t have to keep it a secret?”

And Pete exclaiming, “you knew? Aw man, she _is_ smarter than me.”

* * *

**_From: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_To: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Good morning_ **

_My dearest Myka,_

_A glorious side effect of recent unemployment and the best babysitter this side of the Atlantic is being able to wake up in your bed at any hour I want to. A less-glorious side effect is that you are still employed and apparently have better things to do than be curled into my side at 11 o’clock in the morning._

_However, you have two wonderful employees who I think would be more than fine with you coming back up here and finishing what you started last night._

_Just something to think about. I’m waiting._

_Yours always,_

_Helena_

**_From: scholarseye@gmail.com_ **

**_To: hgwells@gmail.com_ **

**_Subject: Re: Good morning_ **

_Helena, if you recall, you engaged in a scheme (your words) to make my business more successful, so I can’t exactly go AWOL on all these new customers. You’ll have to survive without me for a few more hours._

_And I seem to remember finishing what I started last night. Several times. So there._

_Yours, even when you are being very annoying when I’m trying to work,_

_Myka_

_HG: Haven’t you ever heard of a lunch break, comrade Marx?_

_SE: You’re ridiculous._

_HG: You love it._

_SE: You love me._

_HG: That’s very true, but rather besides the point here._

_SE: Helena…_

_HG: Yes?_

_SE: You love me?_

_HG: I believe I’ve made that quite obvious that I’m immensely in love with you, Myka Bering._

_HG: Hello?_

_HG: Oh-ho, are those footsteps I hear?_

_HG: If I had known all it took for you to come upstairs was telling you I loved you I would have said it-_

_HG Wells has logged off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to stay semi-close to the movie, but my love of independent bookstores won out on this one. Hope y'all enjoyed, this was very silly :)


End file.
